


Brother Dearest

by VTsuion



Series: Mystery, Magic, and Other Twists in Reality [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Family Drama, Gen, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes is James Moriarty, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Reichenbach Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-18 00:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion
Summary: Watson has left Holmes at Reichenbach. It is time for the final confrontation, when who appears but Mycroft Holmes, alias James Moriarty.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes
Series: Mystery, Magic, and Other Twists in Reality [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149767
Kudos: 3





	Brother Dearest

Sherlock Holmes watched as Dr. John Watson disappeared down the trail. As soon as the familiar figure vanished from sight, he let out a sigh of relief. At least Watson would be safe, safe to return to his  _ beloved _ wife and live out his days in peace. Holmes was another matter, but he had never really planned to live a long life, never expected to. His line of work was a dangerous one, and he didn't fancy the weakening that came with age. It was much better to devote himself to his work, whatever the cost may be. He wasn't about to throw away his life, but seeing the great criminal mastermind meet his end was more than worth it.

Were Watson not married, on the other hand... But he shouldn’t distract himself with pointless what-ifs, dreams of things that  _ could not _ be. Not when he had more important things to worry about.

Holmes set off down the trail, away from his dearest friend, towards his unavoidable fate. He refused to look back. The ground beneath his feet became rougher and he picked up his pace. It wasn't easy going, but for that he was grateful, as it took his mind off of what he knew was to come.

Finally he heard the roar of the falls and then saw the white water rushing down the cliffside ahead. A little ledge continued the trail beneath the cascading water. This was the place, the perfect location for his final confrontation with Professor James Moriarty. He approached cautiously, slowly, his eyes darting around for any shred of evidence of a trap, but he saw nothing. It was no surprise. As much as Moriarty liked to keep his hands clean and work behind the scenes, he would not pass up a chance to confront Sherlock Holmes in person.

So the detective chose a rock against the solid rock cliff and took a seat.

He waited as the minutes passed, fading much too slowly, and yet they couldn't stretch on long enough.

At last he spotted a portly figure strolling along the path on the other side of the falls. His gait was deliberate and casual, as if he were walking on the streets of London instead of winding down a mountain path. Finally, he stepped onto the rocky ledge beneath the raging fall.

"Brother dearest!" the man exclaimed over the roar with a smug smile. Behind the simple arrogance hid a hint of pure malice.

Sherlock stood carefully. "Mycroft, you took your time."

"I am not quite as fit as you or your  _ dear _ doctor" - there was a mocking tone to his measured voice - "I'm disappointed in you, you let him go. I was hoping to have a little fun, but I suppose it's all for the best. He could very easily get in the way, and we wouldn't want that."

Sherlock frowned at the obvious threat. "What do you want?"

"Now, now." Mycroft smiled benignly. "You know exactly what I want."

"I don't want this to come to-" Sherlock began.

Mycroft cut him off, "Tut tut, we both know that isn't quite true. You want me out of the way, and you're willing to die for it. You were always the perfect one, so self-sacrificing. But you've got your more selfish reasons too, don't you? You were always weak, with your attachments, first to Victor, then John. I suppose you'll never learn now, will you?"

Sherlock lunged at his brother.

"Not so fast," he replied, blocking with a lazy flick of his walking stick, but Sherlock could see just how much effort holding him back took.

He charged again, and his brother nearly shoved him from his precarious position on the cliff. It was then that he really understood the stakes.

"A last request!" he exclaimed, panting, as he regained his footing.

"Very well." Mycroft frowned at what he knew his brother wanted, but pulled out a pen and paper all the same.

Sherlock accepted them and sat back down on the rock by the falls. He wrote until he could write no more, his writing as clear as he could make it. He folded the note away into his cigarette case and left it where Watson would certainly find it. Then, the great detective stood to face his older brother – always seven years wiser, but not any more.

Sherlock lunged again.

_ You will be missed, my dear older brother. _

**Author's Note:**

> Edited for cross-posting in 2019.


End file.
